


The Jewel of Mor Ardain

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2, Xenoblade Chronicles X
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: In which Irina and Murderess accompany Mòrag on a mission to Sylvalum and some things happen.





	The Jewel of Mor Ardain

**Author's Note:**

> haha aha haaa i've had this idea FOREVER but i finally wrote it out. here's my exclusively self-indulgent xcx au with two of my fave ships, that's about it yep!! i've never tried writing Irina and Murderess before tho so any advice at the end would be swell.
> 
> ADDENDUM uhh there are also mild spoilers for Murderess's final affinity mission (Serial Thriller)

“Hey. We got a problem here?”

Murderess turns, lip curling up in a sneer when she sees who’s interrupting her… meeting. Division Drive is relatively quiet at this hour of night (as quiet as it can get, at least) with few people wandering about and even fewer actually working in the hangars. Here she was, so sure that no one would bother them, but she should’ve expected Irina— _of all people_ , of course— to show up out of the blue.

Irina’s eyes narrow when she gets no response. “I asked you a question, Murderess.”

But Mòrag speaks up before Murderess can fling an insult at Irina. Despite being cornered up against a wall with one hand placed inches from her ear, she seems more or less unbothered. “Good evening, Irina. It’s alright, we were only talking.”

“That’s right. Aww, Irina, you still don’t trust me? After all we’ve been through?”

Ignoring her, Irina looks to Mòrag instead. She raises a brow. _Only talking._ People don’t usually _only talk_ when one person is practically caged against a wall by the other party, but who’s to say. Murderess is so Murderess, and Mòrag wouldn’t be doing nothing if she actually felt threatened. Regardless, Irina doesn’t back down.

“Seriously, Mòrag, just say the word if she’s giving you any crap and I’ll sort her out for you.”

“Ugh. What are you now, her babysitter?”

“Shut it, Murderess.”

The tension is downright palpable. Mòrag smoothly ducks underneath Murderess’s arm and straightens up with a small cough, hands folded behind her back. She looks between the two, gazing at Irina a bit longer, and quickly realizes that there’s no real hostility. How… odd. But that’s none of her business, and Mòrag isn’t the type to pry into whatever they’ve got between them.

“Actually, I was asking Murderess to join me for an assignment.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would she be kidding?” Murderess sneers. “I happen to be _good_ at what I do.”

“Yeah, swindling.”

“Heh, well. That’s just one of my many talents.”

Irina takes a step forward. Mòrag quickly clasps her shoulder before she can start slapping Murderess, or whatever she was going to do. That tint of annoyance in her eyes is enough to make Irina pause. “Irina, if you’d allow me to finish speaking.”

“… Right. Sorry, continue.”

“A new location had been discovered near FN Site 406 in Sylvalum by a survey team. They named it the Abyss Reservoir. The team was planning to survey the area, but a Tyrant had made its home down there. So, they want someone to dispatch the Tyrant and search the reservoir for anything useful in their stead.”

“Sounds like Curator work.” Irina glances at Murderess, and scowls when she’s given a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Indeed. They had contacted Brighid, then Brighid handed the details off to me. She’d already been assigned a mission in Noctilum and won’t be back with her own team for a while.”

So Brighid put her up to this, huh?

“Mòrag is completely whipped,” Murderess laughs. “She’ll do whatever Brighid tells her to do. Did you know that, Irina?”

Irina ignores her. “What about your team?”

“Zeke and Doug needed backup. My team is currently meeting up with them in Oblivia.”

“Without you, their leader?”

“They’re capable,” is all she says like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

Of course. It’s always like that, with BLADEs being shuffled around willy-nilly with hardly any semblance of organization. Too much work to be done and not enough helping hands. She considers asking about Mia, but then she remembers the last time Mia had tried to help Mòrag in the field and decides it’d be better to avoid bringing her up.

“So that’s why you resorted to asking Murderess.”

“I know no other Curators as reliable as her.”

Murderess. _Reliable._ She can’t have heard that correctly. “Okay, what’s going on? Did she blackmail you? Is that’s what’s happening here? You do know what she’s capable of pulling, don’t you?”

“Mòrag, sweetie, you haven’t told Irina how much you’re paying me,” Murderess purrs, wrapping an arm around the other woman. To Irina’s inexplicable frustration, Mòrag doesn’t shrug her off right away.

“She can’t be worth _that_ much,” Irina says, already exasperated.

Mòrag shakes her head and says nothing, totally impassive. It’s difficult for Irina to guess what she’s thinking. As much as she’d like to say they’re friends after frequently working together back on Earth and aboard the White Whale, they really haven’t spoken often ever since they’d arrived on Mira.

She’d spent so much time working with the Reclaimers to search for Lifepods, Irina recalls. Brighid’s Lifepod, more specifically. Elma had once offhandedly commented that Mòrag hardly even slept during that time. At that rate she might as well have joined the Reclaimers for good, but after Brighid had been recovered, Mòrag immediately switched over to the Interceptors. The entire thing was unusually selfish for someone with so few personal motives, all in all.

Vandham didn’t have any objections. As long as she was getting shit done, he had said.

Secretly, Irina had been glad. Even if they still didn’t work together much after that, as busy as they were leading their own teams, just seeing Mòrag around the Interceptors’ hangar kept that feeling of camaraderie alive.

A Skell stomps past them, shattering the stillness of the evening. None of them move until it’s far down the street and out of earshot. Murderess squeezes Mòrag’s shoulder when it’s apparent she’s still not going to say anything.

“Five hundred credits.”

“… That’s all?” Irina’s eyes widen in surprise.

“What can I say? Even I can be charitable when I feel like it,” Murderess shrugs, then sort of grimaces like she’s remembering something that’s both funny and unpleasant. “… And I still owe that bitch Brighid a favor. Helping out her wifey is a nice and easy way to cross it off the list, I figured.”

“Insult Brighid again and I’ll rip your tongue out, Murderess,” Mòrag snaps.

“Ooh, scary!” She winks at Irina.

Irina bares her teeth, disgusted. She moves forward and yanks Murderess’s hand away from Mòrag, then pats her shoulder as reassuringly as she can without coming off as plain pissed off. “I’m coming with you.”

Mòrag’s eyes soften somewhat, though she frowns. “You know I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. I’ve carried out many missions in Sylvalum alone.”

“It’s Murderess I’m more worried about.” She jerks her head in the other woman’s direction; Murderess throws up her hands with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“Oh, _loosen up._ Nothing’s going to happen to her. Brighid would burn me alive _and_ won’t pay me if I let anything happen to her dear pet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that measly five hundred credits means a whole lot to you.”

“You would know.” Murderess takes a step closer to Irina, their faces so close that she can feel her breath. “Every credit counts. I’m just doing whatever I can. Besides, this job sounds a lot more exciting than the usual monotonous crap I’m stuck with.”

“… I get it. Back off.”

“If you two are done bantering?” Mòrag stares at both of them so flatly that Irina nearly feels embarrassed. Murderess, on the other hand, just cackles. “We leave before the sun rises. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, _ma’am._ ” Murderess gives her a mocking little salute. Mòrag only shakes her head and leaves them without gracing Murderess with a response to that, headed for the Barracks.

Irina and Murderess simply stand there in uncomfortable silence (only uncomfortable for Irina, however) once Mòrag is gone. She folds her arms and Murderess imitates the gesture.

“Tell me the truth, for once,” Irina says, turning to her. “Why are you helping her? You know Mòrag could easily overpower you if you tried to fight her.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said nothing’s going to happen. Don’t jump to conclusions.” She scowls, but then it quickly turns into a cheerful smirk. “You can’t stand the idea that someone else trusts me.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

She chuckles. There are a hundred and more reasons to be wary of someone like her. Both Irina and Mòrag are smart enough to know, Murderess knows that as well, and yet.

At the same time, she’s aware of that oddly-placed faith Irina has in her.

They’re _friends_ now in spite of everything, aren’t they?

As for Mòrag, who’s to say. Brighid must have put in a good word for her, it’s the only explanation Murderess can think of. Ugh— she’ll be demanding another favor, then. What a pain in the ass. Between _Duty Always Comes First Blah Blah Blah_ and _I Probably Set Someone on Fire Once_ , she’d prefer to deal with the former.

“I like Mòrag. She reminds me of you,” Murderess says, already walking away. “Anyway, let’s all get drinks together after the mission. Your treat, Irina.”

“Wait— what? _What?!_ Hold on, why is it my treat?! I never agreed to that! Get back here—!”

 

* * *

 

She had had a younger brother as well, Irina recalls. Both of their stories are nothing terribly unique in the endless sea of tragedies that had befallen those who managed to escape the Earth, but that common ground was a small pinpoint of comfort during those first few painful months in space.

Everyone had it rough. Some felt it necessary to share their words with anyone who would listen, and others turned inwards to quietly ferment alone in their grief. People coped in their own ways, whether it was through crying or drinking or both.

Then, there were people like Mòrag, who didn’t seem to know how to do either. Work became their only outlet. It still is, probably.

They fly in silence over Sylvalum, Murderess’s griping comments about the journey taking too long going ignored. No spores today, lucky for them, but good visibility is their only blessing.

“Ganglion.” Mòrag is the first to point them out.

“Yeah, I can see the Xern.” Murdress’s eyeroll is audible. The Xern isn’t the problem, however. It’s far away enough that their Skells aren’t within its range of detection. It’s the crowd of Prone soldiers and machines loitering around the edge of the mountain that would likely be an issue when they try to descend into the pit.

Irina exhales through her teeth. What a headache. “How did the last survey team get past them?”

“They didn’t mention a Ganglion presence here…” Mòrag mutters, and she flies her Skell a bit higher. Irina and Murderess follow.

“Why would they be _here_  now, then?”

“Maybe there’s something valuable at the bottom of that mountain.” Murderess is grinning as she speaks. “If there is, then I’d better be paid more than a paltry five hundred credits at the end of this.”

“Let’s discuss your pay later,” Mòrag says. “After we fight them and complete the mission. There’s quite a lot.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Think we should request backup?” Irina asks.

“Hell no,” Murderess quickly says before Mòrag can say anything. “We can handle these guys. I’m counting… twenty of those fuckers, not including the machines. Five for me, seven for Irina, and eight for Mòrag. Maybe a few more if that Xern notices us. But if we stick close to the west side of the rim, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Your math was a bit off there,” Irina flatly says.

“It’s fine.” Mòrag’s already descending. “I’ll take ten. Let’s go.”

“Wait, Mòrag—?!”

There’s a small ping in her ear and something to her side flashes, indicating an incoming call. Murderess is contacting her in a new channel, presumably one that Mòrag isn’t included in. She curses under her breath and reluctantly accepts the call as they fly after Mòrag.

“Heeey, honey.”

“What do you want, Murderess.”

“Don’t you think that Mòrag’s being a bit too hasty about this whole thing? Isn’t that _weird?_ ”

Irina hadn’t wanted to say anything, but… sort of. The mission hadn’t struck her as something that would be a priority. There’s always plenty of time to explore new areas— landmarks are being discovered every day, and NLA is more or less secure in its constant income of miranium and other resources. But… this is Mòrag leading the charge. It does make sense when it’s _her_. She isn’t the type to put off any sort of work for later, no matter how menial the task may seem.

Irina can relate to that. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “To you, maybe. Unlike you, she doesn’t waste any time.”

“Ahaha, reckless…”

“What was that?”

Those two really are alike. Murderess laughs again and cuts off the feed, returning to the channel shared with Mòrag. They’re getting closer and closer to the edge of the mountain, but none of the Ganglion have looked up yet.

“So, Ladair, what’s the plan?”

“Murderess, stay to my left. Irina, support us from the air. Leave the vanguard to me. We take those Zigs and Quos out first.” They’re practically on top of the Ganglion squad. “Then, we crush the remaining soldiers before they can call for reinforcements.”

“Mmm, sounds like fun.”

“Irina?”

“Gotcha.” Irina nods. That was on purpose, she suspects. She’ll be able to keep an eye on Murderess that way, both for support and to ensure she doesn’t try anything sketchy during the fight.

“Then, let us commence!”

Mòrag fires the first shot. It pierces through one of the Zigs and sends it hurtling over the side of the mountain in a flaming wreck of metal. The soldiers yell out in alarm and begin shooting at them, but the lasers bounce harmlessly off the exterior of their Skells. Murderess’s wild cackling fills Irina’s ears; she lands her Skell right on top of an unlucky Prone soldier and blasts two more off the edge, sending them plummeting into the abyss.

“Murderess! _The Quos!_ ” Mòrag yells, already engaging the second Zig on ground.

“I know! Don’t get your panties in a twist!”

Irina’s still attacking from above with her back and shoulder weapons. Her eyes dart back and forth wildly, her breath steady and fingers delicately handling each trigger like they’re extensions of her own muscles. She excels at this sort of thing. This is what she was made for. She hears Mòrag grunt and sees her Skell stumbling back— her bladegun cleaves the Zig in half before Irina can completely turn to her, and in that split second she fails to notice Murderess suddenly yanking her Skell down by its leg. The Quos are smoldering wreckage.

“Hey—!”

A beam flies through the air where she had just been.

“We’ve got gatecrashers,” Murderess sings out.

A platoon of Puges, marching in perfect formation. Murderess lets go of Irina’s Skell and stomps on a Prone soldier that had boldly run up to them.

Mòrag’s Skell straightens up. “That’s all?”

“Insects,” Murderess sneers.

“I can take ‘em on alone.”

“Then let’s end this, quickly.” Mòrag says.

The Puges are no match for them when they’re fighting in their Skells. Their artillery are like pebbles and their blades like needles. They’re all crushed in what feels like seconds without much of a dramatic fanfare. Irina exhales and allows her shoulders to relax once the last one is scraps, and her fingers to leave the triggers.

“Well, _that_ was certainly a snoozefest. Maybe we should have exited our Skells to fight them,” Murderess drawls. “Ugh, now I’m bored. Let’s get to the bottom of this pit, already.”

 

* * *

 

Not much sunlight reaches that far down. Irina now sees why that survey team had named this place _Abyss Reservoir_. Duogills serenely float above them, only more obstacles to block out the light, and the faint clicking of Cantors echoes from some caverns somewhere.

It’s a miserable, dampened place. Quiet, for the most part. A few Unafulge burst from the water when Irina, Mòrag and Murderess land but otherwise pay them no mind. They sweep searchlights around the pit. There doesn’t seem to be much in the murky water in the center aside from shimmering mounds of stone that do a somewhat decent job of illuminating the place.

It’s still quiet.

“Sooo… where’s that Tyrant?” Murderess is the first to break the silence.

“Hiding, I would suspect,” Mòrag says. “… I can’t see well like this. Exiting my Skell.”

Irina doesn’t think twice. “Hey, be careful. I’m coming out, too.”

Truthfully, she’s also relieved for an opportunity to stretch her arms and legs after sitting in her Skell for so long. She walks a bit ways off, over to the reservoir. The water comes up to her ankles. Some sort of tiny fish (or bug?) swims around her in curious circles, spreading ripples that bounce off her boots.

Mòrag is already crouching at the edge of the water, dragging the tips of her fingers across the surface. Irina watches her for a bit before looking back to Murderess’s Skell with a questioning tilt of her head, calling to her. “You joining us?”

“Heh, I’ll pass. I’m not interested in getting my feet wet.”

“Whatever, princess.” She turns back to Mòrag and awkwardly crouches beside her, unsure what exactly she’s doing. Just staring at the water? That’s something Phog would do. “Hey. Mind if I ask something?”

“Go ahead.”

“This mission… there’s something more to it, isn’t there?”

Mòrag’s head snaps up, but she doesn’t look particularly surprised. “You knew.”

“From the moment you said Brighid asked you to do this, I sort of had a hunch.”

“Ah, well…” She turns her gaze back down to the murky water. It might be the dim lighting, but Irina thinks that Mòrag’s eyes look oddly softer at the mention of Brighid. “It has nothing to do with the mission itself, actually. It’s what comes afterwards.”

“The reward?”

“Something like that.”

Irina coughs into her fist. Bad wording. Her mind is already unwillingly going to places she’d rather not think about; her ears are beginning to burn. Something about the reward. Something beyond that five hundred credits. Mòrag’s one of the least materialistic BLADEs she knows, like the stark opposite of Murderess. Her fancy Six Stars ground gear and exquisitely expensive weapons (manufactured by Six Stars as well) say otherwise, but their value comes in utility rather than looks. There's a reason why she's touted as one of the strongest BLADEs around, and it isn't because she skimps out on equipment.

“She told me to come home as soon as possible,” Mòrag says, fondly. “We’ll be racing to return before the other does.”

“You guys don’t like to be apart from each other, huh?”

Mòrag falls silent, but it’s basically an affirmation.

She gets it. She knows. Far too many BLADEs in the city’s gossip vine know, no matter how discreet Mòrag and Brighid try to be about it. Their discretion always seemed so pointless, though. Plenty of people fling themselves around relationships, but even less manage to find that sort of steadfast commitment that they have.

Sometimes, she’s almost hit with pangs of jealousy when she sees them together, and Irina isn’t even sure why. It’s just the thought of having someone to be so devoted to, probably. She has Gwin, and Elma, and Lin and Doug and so many other BLADE colleagues of course, but their friendships aren’t quite like that. She would die for any of them, gladly, but…

Maybe Irina wishes she could know that feeling of happiness that Mòrag has, is all.

“Oh, that’s so sappy.”

Irina whips around. She somehow hadn’t even noticed that Murderess had finally exited her Skell to join them by the water’s edge.

“Ugh— don’t sneak up on us!”

“Who’s sneaking up on who?” Murderess shrugs. “It’s not like I’m interrupting anything… am I? Heh. So, Mòrag, are we gonna do this thing or not?”

The mission. Right. They’ll just be grabbing a bunch of samples and heading home if that Tyrant really doesn’t show itself. Super easy.

Too easy, even.

“… Wait.” Mòrag extends a hand to them, head bowed. She stands, and her other hand reaches for one of her swords. “I hear something.”

The water is trembling.

That tiny fish that had been circling Irina’s boots darts away.

Irina realizes at the same time Mòrag does. They look to each other in alarm, eyes wide, and both turn for their Skells— just one second too late, as a horrifically massive Virago claws its way up to the surface at the center of the Reservoir, violently splashing water and spores into the air. Murderess shouts something. There’s no time to get back to their Skells.

_Behemoth, the Netherdweller._

“Shit!” Irina stumbles backwards. She’s already got her Assault Rifle in her hands, and Murderess is poised with her Psycho Launchers, and Mòrag…

Mòrag is sprinting right at the beast, Dual Swords drawn.

“ _Ahaha!_ She’s nuts!” Murderess cackles.

“ _Do not hesitate!_ ” Mòrag shouts. Behemoth swipes at her and she nimbly leaps over its claws, and slashes at its hide. Her swords hardly leaves a scratch. “Strike with everything you have!”

“No plan this time, Ladair?!” Murderess’s face is alight with bloodthirsty glee. She’s already running ahead. Irina curses and goes after her.

“That _is_ the plan!”

So reckless. So headstrong. So like Irina that it makes Murderess’s blood boil with an inexplicable joy. _This woman._ She glances over her shoulder and grins wide when she sees Irina trailing her, eyes ablaze.

“Fire away! I’ve got melee covered!” Mòrag shouts.

“Roger that!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” But Murderess obliges, circling Behemoth with Irina as they rapidly shoot at it.

Mòrag is _fast._ That’s the best way Irina would be able to describe her movements. Even in the water and with those slippery stone mounds in the way, her footing is sure as she ducks and weaves around the Tyrant’s furious attacks to strike with her swords to chip away at it little by little. The way she moves is nearly like a choreographed dance. She might even match Elma herself.

The tension in the air is steadily rising. Those Unafulge from before are emerging again and this time, they don’t retreat.

“Hah, I didn’t realize we were so popular!” Murderess has no choice but to divert her fire to shoot at the approaching Unafulge. One falls. Another takes its place. “Fuck off, small fry!”

“Damnit! We need to help Mòrag—“

Even Mòrag isn’t invincible, and her endurance won’t outlast the Tyrant’s. Irina tries to keep her within her field of vision as she assists Murderess in shooting at the Unafulge— they really are small fry, it’s just that there are _too many of them_ — her ears ringing with the awful roaring of the Virago echoing through the abyss.

Their Skells are too far away. If they try to run, the Tyrant would catch up to them too easily. Her mind races and panic strikes her for a moment when she sees Mòrag fly through the air above her and land with a heavy splash; Behemoth had finally managed to land a hit.

“Mòrag!”

“I’m… fine!” She grunts, pushing herself back up to her feet. Irina quickly administers a Repair, and Mòrag nods to her in gratitude. “Murderess! Can you handle the Unafulge by yourself?”

“Ahaha! Lemme kill them all!”

“Irina! I need a buff!”

“Gotcha! _Energy Source!_ ”

For a split second in a moment that seems to last forever, Mòrag stands perfectly still, swords crossed and eyes closed in tense concentration as Behemoth bounds towards her and spores frantically swirl around them. She’s awash in the gentle glow of Irina’s buffer. Mòrag’s eyes snap open.

Her swords burst into brilliant flames.

“ _Hellfire!_ ”

And Irina remembers now, that they call her the Flamebringer.

All but a couple of the Unafulge are dead now, small piles of indigen corpses in the reservoir. Murderess is panting hard, her own Dual Swords equipped now, and she stabs through the last two just in time to watch Mòrag fling herself at the Tyrant.

The tension is reaching its zenith. Something clicks. Murderess’s teeth are bared and eyes wild, focused on Behemoth as she sprints to it. It doesn’t even see her coming, too distracted by the other BLADE already attacking it from the front. “ _Say your prayers!_ ”

That’s her cue, then. Irina slings the assault rifle over her back and draws her knife, running in to join them in attacking the beast.

 

* * *

 

Today’s weather is pleasantly mild. Barista Court is somewhat crowded, mostly with off-duty BLADEs, but Mythra manages to find a small table for herself out of the way and somewhat hidden in the shadow of a building. She exhales and stares down at her cup of coffee. The past few days have been nothing but nonstop missions. Finally having some time off almost feels surreal.

“Hello, Mythra.”

She looks up, squinting against the bright sunlight. It’s Brighid. Her dark hair almost looks purple when the light reflects off of it.

“Oh. Hey, Brighid. Back from your mission already?”

“Mmh, earlier than we expected.”

“That easy, huh.”

“I was hoping for a challenge, truthfully.” Brighid takes the seat across from her. Mythra hadn’t exactly invited her to, but she doesn’t object, only slightly wrinkles her nose (which Brighid pointedly ignores).

“You can’t really expect much from _Curator_ work,” Mythra smirks over her coffee. “All you guys do is collect random junk, I thought.”

“Your provocations are disappointingly weak.”

“You know I’m right.”

But Brighid just smiles like she knows some sort of secret. “Why don’t you give it a try, then?”

“No thanks. I’m out there doing _real_ work. You know, fighting indigens to protect the city and all that?”

“Hmph. I don’t know why you’d be so proud of such mindless barbarity.”

“Wow, you’re calling me barbaric? Pot, meet kettle.”

“Don’t discount the Curators so quickly.”

“Whatever.”

Mythra sips her coffee and looks out to the street and all the people passing by. Ma-non. Wrothians. Orpheans. Humans. Even more. The city feels thrice as crowded now. She can’t say it’s a bad thing, growth is always good and they all know how important alliances with other races are with the Ganglion bearing down on them, but it’s hard to find any quiet spaces nowadays.

Brighid had drifted off in thought as well, hands folded beneath her chin.

“Mòrag isn’t back yet,” Mythra carefully says.

“I’m aware.”

“Are you worried?”

“No. She didn’t go alone.” Murderess had promised nothing would happen.

A pathetic sum of five hundred credits wouldn’t have been nearly enough to secure a promise like that, Brighid knew. But Murderess _owed_ her. When it came to that, after what Brighid had done for her, she had faith that Murderess would follow through. Not that she didn’t have confidence in Mòrag’s strength, she really could have completed the mission alone, but having someone keeping an eye on her was more for Brighid’s peace of mind.

Irina’s involvement was just an unexpected boon.

Mythra’s staring at her.

“Though it seems like _you’re_ worried,” Brighid says, with a note of amusement.

“Me? Nah.” She definitely is. “Pyra was asking about her. She’s unbelievably anxious about the wedding.”

Brighid slowly puts her fingers to her temples. Oh, Pyra. “I haven’t even proposed yet.”

“We all know Mòrag’s going to say yes. It’s been a long time coming.”

They’d spoken about marriage, back on Earth. But then shit hit the fan with the whole _alien war_ thing and they no longer had any time to think about things like that. The Earth was destroyed. Niall was killed. Mòrag lost something in her heart that she hadn’t been able to recover since then.

Everyone had their tragedies.

But, life goes on. Life _must_ go on, otherwise what would be the point?

“Speaking of Pyra,” Mythra finishes off the last dredges of her coffee and stands up, crushing the cup in her hand. “I guess I should go find her. I’ll see you around, Brighid. Tell Mòrag I said hi, when she comes back.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Evening falls. She unexpectedly receives a message from Lin, of all people.

_[ morag was brought to the mim maintenance center. she was asking for u. irina and murderess r w/ her? ]_

Brighid reads the words over and over again like there’s supposed to be more from it, her heart racing. Her comm device beeps as Lin sends an addendum.

_[ she lost her legs. ]_

No. Oh no, no.

_No._

Rationally, she knows it’s nothing to worry about. Limbs can always be replaced. But her heart won’t be still and fear is creeping to the back of her throat in an icy grip. Brighid races out of the Barracks (Mia, lounging around in their living area, calls out a question but is ignored) and runs all the way to the Maintenance Center, pushing past a BLADE loitering around the entrance.

She almost crashes into Irina.

“Whoa— hey!” Irina grabs her shoulders to steady her. “I was just about to come find you—“

“Where is she? Where’s Mòrag?”

Murderess steps into view, completely impassive and arms crossed. Brighid shoves Irina aside and steps up to Murderess, fists clenched, snarling in her face.

“How did this _happen?!_ ”

“She had a… small lapse in judgment,” Murderess says, checking her nails. “That Tyrant put up a hell of a fight. I mean, we killed it for good in the end, but I have to admit we got a bit careless.”

“It was my fault,” Irina quickly says, face pained. “It was— we were so sure it was dead. Mòrag pushed me out of the way. I should’ve been more careful.”

Brighid’s expression falls. Everything in her chest hurts. She looks between them, at Murderess’s poker face and Irina’s guilt and shame, and her shoulders slump.

Irina would’ve done the exact same thing if their positions had been reversed, she knows.

“I’m so sorry, Brighid.”

“What’re you apologizing for?” Murderess jabs her elbow into Irina’s side. “It’s not like Mòrag died. Hey, we even managed to grab some stuff from the reservoir before her legs got clawed off.”

Brighid’s knuckles turn white.

“So, mission accomplished.”

She wants to hit Murderess.

“Don’t give me that scary look,” she laughs at Brighid, then her expression turns serious. “… I guess I still owe you, then, since I couldn’t keep my promise. Tsk.”

“I doubt I’ll be asking you for favors ever again, after what just happened.”

“Hey, talk about that later. Mòrag’s waiting for you in there,” Irina says, and Brighid curtly nods and brushes past the two to head inside. They watch her back until she’s out of sight.

Now might not be the right time to ask, but. “… What did you owe her for?”

For once, Murderess isn’t smirking or sneering. She doesn’t even seem to have a sharp insult ready at the tip of her tongue like she usually does. Instead, she just sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time to listen.”

“Let’s find someplace more… private, then.”

 

* * *

 

It was Dale Gibbon. He’d somehow survived even after being left for dead and inexplicably managed to crawl all the way to the shores bordering the sea between Sylvalum and Primordia.

They encountered him out there, half-dead and full of mindless rage.

It just so happened that Brighid was with her for that simple Curators assignment. Gibbon tried to kill Murderess on sight, of course. He was long past the point of no return, like a feral animal. Murderess had been caught completely off guard and slipped, couldn’t draw her weapons in time—

He almost got her. Right there, on those brilliant white shores, the Effinger bloodline had almost come to an end.

But Brighid was quick to intervene. She killed Gibbon on the spot. She did what Sharon Effinger could never bring herself to do, in spite of her moniker.

She saved Murderess and brought a final end to that horrible chapter in her life.

 

* * *

 

“You’re all alike. All three of you. You’re so selfless and righteous that it makes me sick,” she says, and _there’s_ that usual sneer. “Brighid took another human’s life just to save a wretched person like me.”

“Because you’re important,” Irina finds herself blurting out without even thinking. “Sure, you’re a lying, swindling piece of garbage _and_ you shot me in the back once, but…”

Murderess scoffs. “But what? There’s no redemption for me. I’m selfish and I don’t care. I’ll admit that as many times as it takes.”

“You care about your family.” Irina grabs Murderess’s arm, just above the elbow. Damn it, she’s still not thinking. Murderess looks down at her hand but doesn’t try to pull herself away. “Your entire dream is about honoring their memory. I understand exactly where you’re coming from.”

“Shut up. I don’t need your pity, Irina.”

“ _You_ shut up! It’s not pity, you idiot!” Her grip tightens. “Argh— I can’t stand you! You piss me off all the time, you know?!”

“Heh… and yet you’ll continue to put your faith in me.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Mòrag and Brighid are your friends, too.”

Murderess looks away, solemn. She can’t do everything all by herself. It wasn’t until Irina stepped into her life that she began to realize that, and the nail didn’t drive all the way through until that night when she believed Dale Gibbon had died in Sylvalum. It infuriates her— she’d always seen dependency as a weakness, which is why she had initially despised Mòrag and Brighid so much (just looking at them, _together_ , made her sick) but now…

But now, Irina is holding onto her arm and won’t let go.

She can't muster any willpower to fight against her insistence.

“You’d help me achieve my dream?”

“That was always a given.”

“It’s not like _you_ get anything out of it.”

“You’ll learn to stop being so selfish.”

“Then maybe you’ll learn to be less selfless.”

They both know exactly what she means. Irina could have just as easily been the one to lose her legs, instead of Mòrag. She chuckles and finally lets go, but then Murderess is grabbing her hand in an iron grip and pulling her close.

Too close. Irina’s face turns red and she stammers out something in protest, pushing Murderess to no avail. “What’re you—“

“Go out with me.”

“What?!”

“Are you deaf?” Murderess rolls her eyes. “I wanna make this thing nice and official.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“So is that a yes, or…”

Well, she definitely isn’t saying no. Irina’s face is unbelievably red and her legs are shaking and she’s trying to look anywhere but at Murderess’s face, but she isn’t saying no.

“I— I’m calling you Sharon, then. Murderess is a stupid nickname anyway.”

She sighs. Fair enough. “Yeah, fine. Only you, though.”

“Good. Great. Sharon.”

“Don’t wear it out.”

 

* * *

 

Mòrag is out and about within the week, good as new and considerably more cheerful in spite of what had happened. Or, well as cheerful as she can get. It’s hard to tell, really, unless one knew how to look for that very subtle glint in her eyes and the microscopic upturns at the corners of her lips.

“One of the stones we discovered in the Abyss Reservoir has some very interesting properties,” she’s saying. They’re crammed in a booth at Repenta Diner over coffee. It’s mostly drunkards at this time of night, but they’re all outside in the parking lot so they get to enjoy some relative peace and quiet inside. “Show them, Brighid.”

Brighid places a fist on the table and uncurls her fingers, revealing a tiny blue stone resting on her palm. “We’ll have a jeweler make these into rings for us.”

Mòrag produces a box of matches from her pocket and lights one. She holds the flame close to the stone, and as they watch, it reacts to the heat and, for a lack of better words, unfurls.

“It looks almost exactly like a rose,” Irina says, eyebrows going up. “That’s cool.”

“I’ve decided to name it the Jewel of Mor Ardain.” Mòrag blows the match out and smiles to Brighid. “From an old fairy tale we’re both fond of. It was about a land covered by an endless sea of clouds, where Titans roamed in circles and people lived upon their backs. Mor Ardain was our favorite of the Titans.”

“How romantic.” Murderess’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. Irina kicks her under the table. “But, is that thing worth anything?”

“Compared to all the other minerals currently catalogued? No. It’s not really worth the trouble of going all the way to the Abyss Reservoir for.” Brighid puts the stone away, and puts her hand over Mòrag’s. “But they’d make beautiful jewelry, don’t you think?”

“In that case…” Murderess narrows her eyes. “I bet you could still make a pretty penny off of them.”

“Just let them have this one for now,” Irina mutters.

“We’ll get ours later,” she mutters right back, and laughs when Irina kicks her again.

Mòrag and Brighid exchange a knowing glance and say nothing.

“So.” Murderess takes a swig of coffee. “We flew all the way out to Sylvalum, fought some Ganglion troops, dropped to the bottom of a miserable godforsaken pit, and bled all over a Tyrant— all for your wedding rings. Oh, and let’s not forget the part where Mòrag lost her legs.”

“That sums it up nicely.” Brighid smirks at her, and Murderess sneers right back.

“I take it that means you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“I’m sure I’ll find plenty of other reasons to be mad at you in the future.”

“Uh, I definitely deserve more than five hundred credits. Just saying.”

“Let it go, Sharon,” Irina says, though there’s no real annoyance behind her words and she's looking at Murderess in a slightly different way than she had before.

Then the drunkards come spilling into the diner, led by none other than Frye, loudly calling out orders at random to the frustration of the lone cook behind the counter. They take that as their cue to quickly pay for their coffees and leave.

It’s been a hell of a week. The star-pocked sky doesn’t look quite as foreboding as it had did during humanity’s first few days upon this planet. Each and every one of them had had their fair share of tragedy, but life always finds a way to keep going on, as life does.

The two pairs bid each other good night and head in separate directions.

“By the way,” Mòrag says, now that she’s alone with Brighid. “You told me to finish the mission and come back as quickly as possible. What were you planning?”

Ah, right. Things had been completely thrown off course by the whole debacle with Mòrag unexpectedly losing her legs. Brighid just sighs and shakes her head, fondly hooking an arm around Mòrag’s.

“I was going to propose to you upon your return, but you beat me to the punch.”

“Oh.” Mòrag’s brows go up in surprise. “I’m sorry, if I had known—“

“Then what, you would have been more conscious about potential amputations?” She had been angry, Brighid must admit. Fearful, for the most part, but angry nonetheless. But now, things are all right again and they’re going to get _married._ It’s almost hard to wrap her head around. “You apologize for the most inane things, sometimes.”

“I vow to be more cautious, next time.”

“Next time, I’m coming with you.”

She certainly can’t argue against that. Mòrag affectionately squeezes her hand and softly chuckles. “We go together, Brighid. Always.”


End file.
